


Handle with Care

by legolahs



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Character Study, Chef Kallus, Cooking, Established Relationship, Fluff, I just want my boys to be happy and domestic, Idiots in Love, Lasat language, M/M, Sad Kallus, Set after Battle of Atollon, and then Happy Kallus, we love Happy Kallus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legolahs/pseuds/legolahs
Summary: Kallus searches for the final ingredient to make the perfect first dish for his beloved. Now that he has it, he’s finally ready to share an important meal with Zeb.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	Handle with Care

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Goal Is Not To Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892910) by [SneakyBunyip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SneakyBunyip/pseuds/SneakyBunyip). 



> Based in the same universe as ‘The Goal Is Not To Fall’ by SneakyBunyip. You can read this without reading that first, but it does allude to events in that fic.

Base One on Yavin IV used to be relatively quiet and empty. Rebel groups would come and go, sent on missions one after the other and stopping only briefly for respite and medical services before they were called away again to help those in need. The base served more as a central hub for Alliance Intelligence and High Command, and those were really the only ones who stuck around base for longer than three rotations. 

These days though, Base One could barely contain the hustle and bustle of the ever growing cause. Pilots descended from their ships, droids warbling as they followed them into the mess hall. Maintenance crew directed traffic to manoeuvre parts to the hangar, while intelligence officers and ground crew gathered nearby to discuss recent developments.

It brought warmth to Alexsandr Kallus’s heart to really see the Rebellion he was now a part of. Even when he was an ISB agent, they had suspicions of the existence of a larger Rebel fleet–but he could never have imagined that the Rebellion, against all odds, could grow to a cause of this size. This community of wayward fighters, one he was now a part of, working toward a larger cause.

It had been two months since Kallus had been rescued by the _Ghost_ crew. Two months since he had been pulled out of that escape pod. Two months since he had thrust himself into Garazeb Orrelios's trembling arms as they sobbed in relief and wonderment that the both of them were alive, and finally together.

Earlier that day, Kallus had received a small personal delivery courtesy of Wedge Antilles; a box with a small yellow label in Aurebesh: _Handle with care_. The squadron had returned from a supply run to the small rebel sect on Serenno, where Zeb had once picked up a mercy root plant for Kallus back when he was still stationed on the _Chimaera_. The mercy root had been the final key ingredient for Kallus’s exotic cooking endeavours. 

Kallus smiled, remembering the thrill and the anticipation he had felt all those months ago when he picked up the small mercy root plant back on Varactyl Tor where Zeb had left it for him. Zeb had risked so much to get the prized plant to Kallus. He had to hide his joy behind a scowl then, but not anymore.

He made his way through the base. The small crate carrying the mercy root plant was carefully balanced atop his folders of flimsi paperwork and his Alliance-issued datapad. He gathered a few odd looks here and there, but his gaze was nearly always met with small smiles. It still took a while to get used to the friendliness and welcoming hospitality he felt from his fellow Rebellion members. 

_His fellow Rebellion members._

If it weren’t for Garazeb Orrelios, he would not be here. He would never have opened his eyes to the corruption and horror of the Empire’s stronghold. He would never have changed enough to be worthy of being in the Rebellion. To be worthy of being with Zeb.

Kallus set the crate and the flimsi down on his desk. Intelligence had a modest office at the back of Massassi temple, where the five of them worked while they were on base. He liked working with a smaller team. It was a nice change of pace from working with the vast numbers of the ISB. 

He gave Jaara a small wave across the room; she beamed and waved back at him, mid conversation with Cassian who turned and smiled at Kallus.

“Alex, hey,” he nodded. They motioned for him to join them at Jaara’s desk. 

“Cassian, Jaara,” Kallus grinned when he joined them. The two were the most efficient intelligence officers Kallus had ever had the pleasure of working with. Even within two short months of being colleagues, they had proven to be sharper than any of the ISB agents in the Empire. Plus, they were a lot more fun. 

“What’s in the crate, Captain?” Jaara teased, motioning toward the box cradled delicately in Kallus’s arms. 

Kallus’s smile softened. “Mercy root plant. I had Antilles pick it up from a market on Serenno for me.” He was careful not to topple the plant in the crate. He had lost his original plant when he fled the _Chimaera_ ; he was going to take good care of this one. If he looked after it well, it would supply him with the rare root ingredient for years to come.

“You gonna bring us some of your famed delicious food this time,” Cassian smirked, “or are you saving it all for yourself again like you always do? You make it hard to eat the grub at the mess when all we can smell is your cooking from the kitchens late at night.”

“Actually,” Kallus mused, “I think I _am_ going to share this meal. Just not with you two.”

Cassian made an indignant noise but Jaara caught the soft glint in Kallus’s eye and shushed him with a wave of her arm. She knew him well enough by now—ex-ISB agent or not, his face was an open book to her. 

She arched an eyebrow. “So… does this mean that Chef Kallus is finally making a home-cooked meal for his partner?” 

They both turned to look at Kallus. He blushed furiously. Curse his light complexion. 

“Yes,” he admitted, biting his lip. “I finally have all the ingredients to make the dish I want for him.” He was lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. It must have shown on his face, as Jaara gave him a small pet on the arm.

“Alex, he’s going to love it. You have nothing to worry about.” Her smile soothed Kallus’s worried brow. 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I just want it to be perfect.”

Sharing a meal had always been important to Kallus. He remembered his mother, laying out three simple dishes on a meagre table in their small apartment off the Collective Commerce District of Coruscant. The world around them was cold and crumbling but the food was always warm, and as a young child Kallus’s time around the dinner table was one of peace, where his father’s worn brow was smoothed by the smell and taste of a hard-earned meal. 

Aboard the _Chimaera_ , Kallus had broken bread with Grand Admiral Thrawn to gain an investigative advantage during his time as Fulcrum. At the time it had been a pragmatic decision both to uncover more information about his quarry and to avoid any wasted food. The meal, an Ithorian dish of _me’montri_ , was one Kallus had only dreamed about until Zeb had managed to get that fated mercy root plant to him. 

A meal which he had made two portions of on that day. A portion that was meant for Zeb. Which he had shared with Thrawn instead. 

The thought still left a distaste in his mouth. 

Since then, Kallus had been apprehensive of sharing his home-cooked meals. He rarely spent time cooking on base, opting instead for mediocre meals from the crew mess in between shifts in Intelligence. When he did cook it was late at night, and he only made meals for one. 

In truth, Kallus still felt a small tinge of shame that his dream dish had been shared not with his beloved, but with his enemy. This was the real reason he had not cooked for Zeb yet despite their many evenings together on base. And it just felt wrong to cook for others before his own betrothed had had a taste of his food. 

He had been seeking out mercy root ever since, determined to serve up the dish for Zeb as their first real shared meal. 

The chrono on Jaara’s desk beeped: 1800 hours. Zeb would be finished with his shift training the new security recruits soon. 

“I’d better go,” Kallus said apologetically, “Zeb will be finishing up soon, and I would like to prepare the kitchen before I fetch him.” 

“Alex, if your cooking is as good as you say it is, then I’m sure he’ll propose to you all over again. Kriff, if you would care to share some with us next time, I’m sure I’ll propose to you too.” Cassian teased. Kallus laughed, actually laughed out loud at that. 

He waved goodbye to the two, chuckling at Cassian’s exaggerated wink and ensuing yelp as Jaara smacked him in the arm. He felt grateful to already know a few he could call friends in his new home. 

Kallus walked into the corner of the secondary crew kitchen that had been cleared for the evening, per his prior agreement with the base kitchen staff. He carefully extracted the plant from the crate and placed it on the table near the rest of his ingredients he had prepared. 

He had managed to gather most of the ingredients from various sources around base—most of the ingredients were commonplace, and being on good terms with the Twi’lek chef got him a good-sized package of ground reek. 

Kallus looked down at the ingredients and smiled. 

_Finally. A meal that is deserving of my beloved._

He checked his chrono and headed toward the command centre. Zeb would be in debrief after his training session, and Kallus hoped to surprise him with the evening’s plans.

As expected, Zeb was in the briefing room talking to General Dodonna. Kallus approached slowly in the corridor. Zeb’s deep voice carried from the room. 

“... good progress. A few of ‘em might need some time to adjust to life on base, but they all seem to be in shape and most are ready to start proper training, I think.” 

“Thank you Captain Orrelios, your guidance has been invaluable. I will be sure to update you, but for now, I believe you have other things to tend to.” Dodonna’s eyes twinkled as he looked over Zeb’s shoulder. 

Kallus blushed; he had forgotten how astute the General was and didn’t realise he was so visible in the corridor. 

Zeb frowned and turned around, but his expression softened and his ears perked up when he spotted Kallus. 

“Kal—uh, Captain Kallus! What are you doing here?” 

“Hello, Captain Orrelios. General,” he nodded at Dodonna, who stood there looking amused. “I apologise if my presence interrupted your meeting—”

“Nonsense, Captain. We were finished anyway.” Dodonna smiled broadly. As if on cue, he nodded at the two and ducked away, taking his leave. Kallus smiled. He had always liked Dodonna. 

Once the door shut behind the departing General, Zeb’s shoulders relaxed as he wrapped his arms tenderly around Kallus’s waist. Kallus could feel the tension rush away from them both as Zeb pulled Kallus into his embrace, leaning against the edge of the table. 

“This is a nice surprise,” Zeb nuzzled. His fingers grazed a lock of hair that had fallen into Kallus’s eyes, brushing it away behind his ear. 

“Oh, this isn’t even the surprise yet,” Kallus hummed contentedly. He ran his hands up Zeb’s muscular arms, watching his fur shudder at the sensation, ears flicking forward in interest. 

“Oh?” 

Kallus ducked his head, smiling shyly. “Do you remember the day, back when I was still on the _Chimaera_ , when I finally attempted the _me’montri_ recipe?” 

“The one you served to Thrawn?” Zeb frowned. 

“I—yes, that one,” Kallus took a step back and looked up at Zeb. “As you might recall, I wanted to share that dish with you.”

“Kal, like I said before, I don’t blame you for sharing it with Thrawn. It gave you an opportunity to scope out your enemy, and that gave us invaluable intel.”

Kallus reached out to smooth Zeb’s furrowed brow. 

“I know, _melrnhya._ But what I’m saying is, I still want to share it with you. It is important to me… and you are important to me.” 

Zeb’s heart skipped a beat at the tender Lasat endearment. By Ashla, his Kallus was perfect in every way. He brushed his knuckles against the pillowy beard on Kallus’s cheek, feeling him gently press back into his hand. Kallus turned his head and caught one of the fingers in a soft kiss.

Zeb sighed sweetly at the gesture. “I would love to taste that dish one day, but ya know I’m not a picky eater.”

Kallus looked up at him with a sly grin. “Well, I have a surprise for you.”

Zeb raised an eyebrow. “Er, what do you mean?”

“I managed to ask a big favour of Antilles. His squadron just returned from a supply run to Serenno, and I got him to pick something up for me.” 

Zeb’s green eyes widened. “Mercy root! You got another plant?” 

“I’ve cleared a corner in the kitchen for tonight. If you’re free to join me.” He looked up hesitantly, almost shyly, at Zeb. He knew Zeb had been waiting patiently to try one of his meals; he had asked about it once, but when Kallus quieted at his questions he had never prodded. Zeb, who invariably understood the unspoken words between them.

Zeb, who now looked at Kallus with kind, eager eyes. He leaned forward and pressed his temple gently to Kallus’s. 

“Kal… I’d be honoured.” 

The lasat brushed his lips gently against the human’s in a gentle kiss, moving to nuzzle their cheeks together. Kallus exhaled deeply, losing himself in Zeb’s pleasant musk. He always felt an ache of possessiveness and _want_ when Zeb scented him; like he wanted the whole galaxy to know that he was Zeb’s and Zeb’s alone. He grasped the lasat’s jumpsuit at the chest and pulled him in greedily, revelling in the way his breath hitched. Kallus let out a breathy sigh as he felt the low rumble in Zeb’s chest.

“We could just skip the kitchen,” Kallus mused, “and head back to the bunk.”

Zeb pulled back reluctantly, chuckling. “We’ll have time for that later, _melrnhya._ ”

Kallus pouted, his bottom lip jutting out. Zeb’s shoulders shook with hearty laughter, Kallus cracking a small smile as Zeb brushed his thumb over his lover’s face—flushed, grinning, eyes glinting with adoration. He looked so much younger when he was smiling like this, like the weight of the galaxy was no longer on his shoulders. It was amazing how, despite everything they had been through and the uncertainty of the raging war around them, they had learnt to let their guard down around each other and love as though they were the only two beings left in the galaxy. Zeb’s eyes softened as he gazed at his lover’s easy smile.

“Come on then, you petulant kit.” He ignored Kallus’s indignant scoff and laced their fingers together, dragging him towards the door.

“I promise I’ll wash up the dishes after ya. It’s only fair an’ all.”

Zeb didn’t let go of his hand once on their walk from the command centre all the way to the kitchens. It was common knowledge around the base by now that the two were a couple, but they did rarely engage in displays of public affection. They weren’t young cadets, after all; they could save that for the privacy of their bunk. But there was something about the way Zeb glowed, holding Kallus’s hand proudly for all to see as he greeted their fellow soldiers around the base. Kallus felt giddy at the small gesture of affection. 

He nodded at the Twi’lek chef as they entered the main kitchen, making their way past the busy line of cooks and into the quieter back room that housed the secondary kitchen. Zeb’s ears perked up at the sight of the new mercy root plant and the small pile of ingredients. Kal looked pleased to be here; master of his domain, his shoulders relaxed as he looked over the food on the counter and pulled out his datapad of recipes. Zeb wandered over to the ingredients, giving the cursory items a sniff. 

“What would’ya like me to do?” Zeb asked.

Kallus looked up from the datapad and smiled. “If you don’t mind, would you please chop the garlic while I prepare the mercy root?”

“Of course.” 

Zeb pressed a soft kiss onto Kallus’s forehead as he picked up the garlic and a knife from the rack. Kallus smiled to himself as he prepared the small knife used to extract the mercy root. 

He pulled the plant toward him and gently brushed the dirt apart until he felt a root of the right size. Using the knife, he deftly cut the root away from the rest of the plant and extracted it, burying the dirt back into place. 

They fell into a companionable silence, save for the sounds of knives on chopping boards. There was something beautifully domestic about the way they worked around each other in the kitchen.

Kallus placed a pan on the largest burner. _No imperial insignia on this pan_ , he thought wryly. It was a satisfying thought.

He slid the ingredients into the pan, a sweet heady aroma rising from the sizzling ground reek and spices. Garazeb waltzed over contentedly, shifting until his broad chest was flush with Kallus’s back. He snaked his arms around his lover’s waist and let out an appreciative purr. 

“This is very nice. Thank you for doing this,” he murmured quietly. Kallus hummed affectionately, stirring the ingredients simmering gently in the pan. 

If he closed his eyes and pretended, the war was over. There were no more fights to fight, no more battles to be won. If he could spend the rest of eternity with Garazeb pressed against his back, thumb softly brushing his hip, cheek nuzzling into his hair, he would be happy. 

For the first time in his life, it gave him hope about his future. He had never let himself think too far forward, keenly aware of how temporary everything in his life was. When he was a cadet in the academy, he only thought of excellence and worked hard to advance in his career. When he was in the ISB, it was always about the current mission. When he began to question everything, he was in the throes of a war on the wrong side, cursed with knowing that the only thing he could do was spend every waking moment making up for the years of torment of others at his own hands. That was what happened when you were brought up in a world of war. 

Then Garazeb Orrelios stumbled into his life, on that ice moon. His words punctured the balloon of Kallus’s carefully crafted world, forcing him to search for answers and rebuild everything he knew. His strong arms and warm embrace melted the defensive ice around Kallus’s heart. 

Kallus knew that he was not deserving of the love of someone like Garazeb Orrelios. But if he had to spend the rest of his life earning that love, that was what he would do.

“Kal.” Zeb’s voice jarred Kallus out of his reverie. 

“Hm?” Kallus opened his eyes. 

“You alright?” Zeb murmured tenderly into his hair.

“Yes. Why?”

Zeb smirked. “The reek’s burnin’, love.”

“Oh, kriffing carking hell,” Kallus swore. He scraped the bottom of the pan with the spatula. Luckily, it wasn’t too badly burnt. He tossed the rest of the ingredients in, watching as the chocolate bricks melted into a delectable paste. 

“It’ll be fine.” He wrinkled his nose at the burnt aroma, trying to ignore Zeb’s chuckling behind him. 

“I’ll try not to distract you any more, Chef,” Zeb winked at him as he went to fetch the noodles from the refrigerator. Kallus smirked wryly. 

“I am nothing if not focused, Garazeb,” he quipped. Which was a lie in this particular moment, obviously, and Zeb knew that. 

“Focused or not, I have confidence in your skills. It already smells crikkin’ amazing.” 

Kallus laughed. They returned to their companionable silence, Kallus stirring the rest of the ingredients into the simmering pan while Zeb boiled the noodles. 

Soon, the dish was ready. Kallus dished out a generous serving of noodles onto the two plates, ladling the rich brown gravy over the top. As per Ithorian tradition, he allowed Garazeb to select his plate first, preparing the bowls of toppings. 

Zeb looked curiously at the small bowls. “Is the cheese supposed to melt when ya sprinkle it on top?”

“From what I have gathered in my research, some subsets of Ithorian culture like to melt the cheese over heat and pour it over. I believe it is most traditional to have it cold on top,” Kallus said as he placed the three small bowls between them on the small makeshift dining table. 

Being an industrial kitchen, there weren’t many surfaces designed for eating off of. Kallus had brought two bar chairs into the kitchen and had placed one on either side of the small island. The plates were now set, one across from the other with the topping between them, cutlery laid neatly on either side of the dishes. He had even brought a bottle of wine he had saved for this very occasion, a more mellow _Chemegnon ‘98_ which paired well with the aromatic spices in the dish. Zeb looked eagerly at the plates and toppings in front of them as they sat down. 

“The chefs of Southern Ithor like to add the mercy root first, then cheese, then crackers. But you may add them in whatever order and quantities you wish.” Kallus’s eyes softened. He brushed his fingers over the velvety fur on Zeb’s fingers. 

“I’ll try ‘em in that order, then. Can’t argue with tradition,” Zeb grinned. He loaded his plate with generous amounts of the toppings, passing the small bowls to Kallus to do the same. Once they were done, Kallus raised his glass of wine. 

“ _En kah sua eesha,_ Garazeb,” Kallus said, carefully, feeling his tongue curl around the unfamiliar words. Zeb’s green eyes widened in surprise at the Lasat phrase.

 _We shall dine together, Garazeb_. 

“I’ve been practicing. I hope the pronunciation isn’t too bad, I researched traditional Lasat phrases and this one seemed appropriate for celebrating a good meal.”

Zeb’s smile grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It’s perfect, _melrnhya_. And that Core world accent really _does_ sound amazing in Lasat,” he purred. 

Zeb looked curiously at the dish in front of him, and twirled his fork in the noodles. Kallus watched as he carefully lifted a steaming forkful, and tried a taste. He smiled broadly as Zeb’s eyes closed, ears twitching in surprise as he let out a contented moan. 

“Karabast—Kal, this is _amazing_.” He dug his fork in eagerly, carefully ensuring he had enough toppings for each bite. Kallus tried his own plate; it _was_ good. Much better than the first time he had made it on the _Chimaera_. He could really taste the distinct heat of the allspice berries combined with the mellow sweetness of the Denonian cinnamon and the chocolate. The mercy root was cooked to perfection. 

“Ya know,” Zeb mused in between bites, “Once we’re officially married, we can use a more familial phrase to toast. _Tah vorres eh vreeg._ ”

Kallus felt his breath hitch in his chest as he gazed at the unabashed affection on his betrothed’s face. _Married_. Force, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He mulled over the words in his head, and tried pronouncing them out loud. 

“What does it mean?”

“It’s a shortened version of an ancestral Lasat phrase. I guess literally, it translates to ‘to our eternal stars’. It’s, uh, more of a tradition in Lasat culture. For married couples.” 

Kallus smiled wistfully as he let the weight of the words settle in. _To our eternal stars._

“It’s beautiful, Garazeb.” 

He knew how much Lasat culture meant to his lover, and he had been working on learning the words and pronunciation. He knew it was important to Zeb for him to make the effort. But in truth, it was still difficult for him to allow himself to say the words sometimes. Especially words with so much tradition and meaning, as if he of all people was worthy of speaking them. 

Zeb’s reached out for Kallus’s hand, searching for eyes who would not meet his own. 

“Hey. Kal, stop.” Zeb squeezed his hand until Kallus raised his head, a pained expression marring his features. Zeb took a deep breath.

“I know you can’t forgive yourself, you _won’t_ forgive yourself. But everything you’ve done for us since Bahryn, everything you’ve done for _me_? Kal, darlin’, look at me.”

Kallus looked into those glassy orb-like eyes that held so much pain and suffering; eyes that despite everything still looked at him like he was the single most important thing in the galaxy. 

“Before you, I never would’ve thought I would find someone I wanted to spend my life with. We’re products of war, and in war, life is short,” Zeb stated. “Our lives are kriffin’ harsh and unforgiving; it’s eat or be eaten. But who you were before does not define you. Who you are now, who you’ve chosen to be, an’ who you’re becoming? That’s far more important to me. I want you by my side, in battle, an’ when we come out the other side of this crikkin’ war. I promise you, Kal.”

Kallus was quiet for a minute. Zeb brushed the pad of his thumb against the soft hairs of Kallus’s cheek, running his hand through his beard and tilting his head up. He was met with a forlorn but grateful look. 

“So will ya stop wallowing and enjoy this delicious meal you’ve made for us already.” 

Kallus huffed, his lips quirking up timidly. 

“Yes, I suppose it would be a shame to let the food go cold,” Kallus conceded, which earned him a chuckle from the lasat.

Zeb took another bite and sighed blissfully. Kallus’s gaze softened. He was glad that this wonderful dish of _me’montri_ now had a much, much better memory attached to it. 

“Ya know, I might have to change my mind about food being just for fuel an’ all,” Zeb quipped, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He set his fork down on the empty plate, leaning back and letting out a satisfied yawn. Kallus finished his own plate and stood up to clear the dishes. Zeb cracked an eye open and found Kallus staring down at him, a smile quirking his lips.

“You can stop eyeing the plate and lick it already,” Kallus smirked wryly. 

“Stars, Kal, I’m not a crikking kit,” Zeb snickered. Kallus gave him a sardonic look and Zeb let out a deep belly laugh, his shoulders shaking. Force, it felt good to make Zeb laugh like this. He wouldn’t mind fighting a war if he had this to come home to every night. 

“Let me clear up, darlin’. You’ve done all the hard work here.” 

Zeb stood and collected the dishes, planting a wet kiss on Kallus’s jaw as he sauntered past, ignoring his indignant yelp.

“Insufferable lasat,” he grumbled.

“Ya love me.”

Kallus smiled, arm snaking around Zeb’s waist as he turned on the water at the sink.

“Yes, Garazeb, I do love you. Even though you are an insufferable lasat.”

“ _Your_ insufferable lasat.” 

And that he was. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to SneakyBunyip for letting me play in this lovely universe of yours!


End file.
